Veritas Temporis Filia
by queenofsarcasm-14
Summary: Based on Season 1, Episode 8 when Henry comes to Katherine's bed. He is feeling vulnerable and gets told a few home truths...
1. Surrender

**Veritas temporis filia**

**This is a continuation of the scene in 1.8 where Henry reluctantly comes to Katherine's bed, I've always thought that was too good of an opportunity to let go :D**

**I haven't decided whether to leave it as a one shot or continue yet.**

**The title is the motto of Mary I and roughly means 'the truth will reveal itself over time' which I thought was quite appropriate for Henry & KoA**

**Disclaimer: I do not profit in any way from this story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creators**

**Enjoy :D**

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_Henry_

I have not walked this route in a long time, especially not at this late hour of the night, and yet the way is familiar to me still. Reassuring even, although I stalk grimly to my destination reminding myself constantly that it is duty only that propels me there. When I reach the correct door it is all too tempting to turn around and return, nay _flee_, the way I have come but instead I gather my resolve and knock sharply before entering. _It's nothing._

Katherine is not displeased to see me, I notice. Her face is momentarily surprised before she gathers herself and then merely gently approving. _Good_, it seems to say, _this is your rightful place_. She is curious, no doubt, as to why I am here and if one knows her well enough it is possible to detect a small amount of hope in her eyes as to what my visit means but she is not resentful. If I am truthful with myself her continued devotion to me amazes me, considering the position that I have placed her in. But I must not allow myself to feel sympathy for her, not now when I believe that I am so close to achieving my goal.

Her ladies could not be more astonished to see me than if I was Jesus Christ himself and they gawp blatantly at one another as they drop to the floor in hasty curtseys. Katherine dismisses them quickly with a short, sharp wave of her hand and I cannot help but feel a certain amount of admiration. She is undeniably regal, even dressed only in her nightgown; she is Queen to the last. It is easy to see why people love her. They scuttle away, no doubt to share the shocking scene they have just witnessed with the rest of the servants, and we are alone next to each other, as stiff and uncomfortable as two statues.

'Katherine,' I begin sternly, desperate to make her see reason. Contrary to popular opinion I do not enjoy tormenting her in this way but if cruel words are the only way to force some sense into her then it seems that I have little choice.

'Why do you go on denying me justice? You're so heartless. So full of hatred.' These accusations wound her, I can tell, but I continue regardless.

'I can't persuade myself any longer that you love me.' That is a brazen lie; any fool could tell you that her only crime is to love me _too much_, that she has forgiven my many slights against her wholeheartedly. Her denial is not surprising, therefore.

'I do love you! I have never ceased to love you, you know that.' She reaches over to me, probably the most intimate contact that we have had in months, but I remain unresponsive and sulky.

'I don't know it. Perhaps you should be kept away from our daughter, in case you start poisoning her mind against me.' That is unforgivingly spiteful, I realise- threatening to deny Katherine's already limited visits to Mary, I know it breaks her heart to be so far away from her- but it is the only tactic that I think will be truly effective. Katherine is not one to be undone with petty threats; indeed she has proven herself to be almost heroically brave but surely she could not endure being completely removed from her only child? It seems I have played a trump card because she physically recoils in horror at my words.

'How can you say these things to me? After all this time, after all that we have meant to each other!' _Our marriage is a lie_, I remind myself severely before I become affected by the truth of what she is saying, _nothing more than a sham._ Still, I soften my tone slightly.

'I'm only asking you to be reasonable!' God's blood, but she is frustrating! What will it take to make her accept the truth?

'I am being reasonable; it is you who will not be reasonable!'

I am not going to win this argument, not tonight, and I am too weary to continue with our verbal sparring. I will let her reflect on the possibility of a permanent separation from Mary overnight and in a few short hours I will be free to leave and keep company with those who are not constantly trying to outwit or defy me. With a sigh to let her know that I am displeased with the way she has behaved I slide into a sleeping position and close my eyes. After a few seconds I hear her do the same and even though her back is to me and my eyes are shut I could describe exactly the troubled expression that I am sure she is wearing. Well good, let her mind be troubled as mine is.

I sleep badly and my dreams are restless and full of foreboding. When I wake with a start I cannot remember the unpleasant details of my nightmares but am nonetheless left with a horrible uneasiness. It is not morning yet and Katherine sleeps on peacefully beside me, closer to me now than we were at the beginning of the night, her hand is very almost touching mine, her forehead is against my shoulder. I know I should move further away from her or even go back to my own rooms, after all I have fulfilled the requirement of sleeping in her bed, but I cannot help but remain still for a few moments. It has been a long time since I have shared a bed with a woman, much less Katherine, I usually insist that my mistresses are escorted from my presence as soon as they have fulfilled their purpose, and I have forgotten how intimate it is to look upon someone who is sleeping. Suddenly I am irritated beyond belief that Katherine has the power to consume my thoughts even when she is asleep and helpless and I throw off the covers and climb out of her bed. I cannot quite bring myself to leave however, so I sit in a chair by the fireplace, brooding.

Some time ago I had lamented to Wolsey about the happiness of the beginning of my reign. I lived for pleasure, I told him, and never once thought of the future. For what had I to fear from the future but prosperity and fortune? And children of course, many children from Katherine who I adored with an intensity that I was convinced would never wane. Until I became King it seemed to me that I was the luckiest man in Christendom, always the favourite of the court, loved by everyone and all I was expected to achieve was a son to continue the dynasty. In my wildest dreams I never imagined that I could fail to produce at least one healthy son from a woman whose symbol was the pomegranate for Christ's sake, the very emblem of fertility! It is torture itself for me to remember my utter delight on that New Year's Day all those years ago when I had been shown into the birthing chamber, literally beaming with pride, and saw Katherine cradling our newborn son, radiant with happiness. Of course I had taken it as a sign of God's especial favour towards me, I had felt untouchable. And I loved that boy, how I loved him! No sooner was he born than I was planning his glorious future, I was so impatient to be able to teach him jousting and fencing and archery. He would have brothers by then of course, and sisters- I had always wanted daughters to spoil. I could foresee nothing but happiness and success. When they told me he had died, it was as if all my good fortune had died too. Since then, there has been nothing but failures.

And now there is Anne who has barged into my life with all the force and destruction of a hurricane. Surely she will provide the solution to my problems, when I am with her it is impossible not to feel young and optimistic again, in many ways she is delightful. And desirable, God, so desirable. She will give me the sons that I so desperately need. But why then have I lately been plagued with an unexplainable sense of unease that I cannot completely rid myself of, no matter how hard I try? It makes me seek out Anne's company even more because when I am not with her it is impossible to convince myself that my newfound happiness is not an illusion, to be ripped away at any moment.

When I emerge from my melancholy reverie she is awake and watching me. Our eyes meet in silence and she fearlessly holds my gaze. No doubt she is readying herself for another onslaught about how she must submit to my demands for an annulment but I say nothing. I am not even angry with her anymore as I was earlier but just profoundly sad at the situation we find ourselves in.

'You look troubled, husband,' she says levelly. I sigh, how will unburdening my sorrows to her possibly help now? She is the cause of them after all, or so I keep telling myself.

'Go back to sleep, Katherine,' I say dismissively.

'How can I? I am too worried for you to sleep more than a few hours anymore, that Boleyn girl will damn your soul to hell if you let her, as you seem determined to do so, and now I see that you are _also_ too conflicted and miserable to sleep. It's a wonder that I can sleep at all.'

I have no answer for this so I say nothing. I hear the rustle of the bedclothes as she comes to sit near me.

'You used to tell me everything; you used to share your problems with me. I helped you. Do you remember? We used to talk all night.' Her hand is on my arm, her face is earnest, she could not be more inviting if she tried.

'You _are_ my problem.' Her head drops at this in resignation and she half nods as if she accepts my resentment of her. She is halfway back to the bed before I speak.

'Did you love him?'

'Who?'

'Arthur. Your _husband_.'

Slowly she moves to sit on the end of the bed, facing me. Her face is guarded, confused.

'Sweetheart, why do you ask such questions? It was so long ago, we were little more than children and we were never-΄

'Yes, yes, alright, so you keep saying.' I am almost choking on impatience, I have wanted to ask this question for years but have always been afraid of the answer she would give. But what is there to lose now?

'Did you love my brother as you love me?'

There is a long silence before she answers and when she does speak it is almost as if she is thinking as she is speaking, as if she truly does not know what she is going to say until the words leave her mouth.

'I…I loved him the best that I could. I so wanted to be a good wife to him as everyone expected of me and he was always very kind to me…he was so embarrassed that he could not be a proper husband to me. But we were true friends, he was my only friend in a strange country and it is true that I was devastated when he died. I felt as though I had lost the only person that truly cared for me in the world. I did not love him as a husband though, not as I love you.'

After she finishes I merely nod. Of course she has to say that but it is gratifying to hear it all the same, my brother's ghost has been lingering over me a long time.

'He hated me, you know.'

She smiles wryly.

'Oh no Henry, he did not hate you, he was jealous of you a little as brothers are. It was difficult for him that you were the favourite; he thought that you outshone him. But it was not hate; truly I do not think that he was capable of hate.'

That is true at least; Arthur had always been gentle and weak to the eternal irritation of our father.

'It was I that was jealous of him, that he would be King and you his Queen. I thought him far too lucky for his own good.'

She smiles again but it is more of a sad gesture than happy.

'When my Father died nobody in the world could have persuaded me to marry anyone except you, I fancied that I had been waiting my whole life to be your husband. My Grandmother urged me to break the betrothal dozens of times; she swore that Arthur had bedded you and that no good would come of our union. But I would not listen to her, or anyone that supported her. I was besotted with you.'

Now the smile has become desperate as if she cannot bear to hear that my love for her is in the past. She manages to keep her voice steady, however.

'And I you. I love you still, as much as I did then.'

Despite my best intentions this conversation has evoked a tenderness towards her that I cannot suppress. It mingles with my sadness and I find myself going to her and taking her hands in mine.

'Katherine, my grandmother was right. What have we brought each other but unhappiness? Can you say honestly that I have made you happy? I am certain there are thousands of people who would say that you have great cause to hate me.'

She shakes her head emphatically.

'What good is hate, sweetheart? It would make me sick to hate you, like it made my poor sister sick. God has called me to be your wife, to love you; it would be a sin to hate you. And besides, I could not, even if I tried.'

She is deluded but it is a delusion that I would willingly lose myself in if I could.

'But Katherine, surely you cannot deny that God is displeased with us? He has taken our children from us, He has not allowed us a living son, is that not proof of His disfavour?'

Slowly she raises her hand to caress my cheek, a comforting gesture.

'I do not pretend to know God's plan,' she says softly, 'but I know this. Sometimes when I think of the trials that God has given us it makes me despair, but I cannot give into despair or I could not carry out the tasks that God has entrusted me with- to be your loving wife and a good mother to our daughter. He has seen fit to leave Mary on Earth in our care and it is to her that you must look for your succession, you think you have no future but that is not true. She is your dynasty. You strive so hard for happiness, my husband, and yet you will not achieve it by trying to put aside our marriage and cavorting with that Boleyn witch. Yes,' she says calmly at my half-hearted protest, 'that woman is an emissary of Satan, put in your path to test you and so far you have failed. But it is easy to reverse the damage you have done. All that you need do is submit to God's will and return to me, your wife. And then you will be happy, we were happy once before, we will be happy again. It is simple.'

Her words are intoxicating to me; she is offering the antidote to the great weight of despair and worry that I have been secretly feeling lately. But surely it cannot be so easy. I should extract myself from her presence, hasn't Anne warned me of her persuasiveness, I should never have come here.

'It is too late,' I protest feebly. I do not move.

'It is not. It is never too late.'

Her hand is still stroking my cheek, our eyes are locked, my other hand is still entwined with hers. As if in a trance I become aware that her face is becoming closer to mine and when our lips meet it is almost a shock. Dimly I know that I can still pull away from her embrace but I do not, the loss of the happiness and peace she has promised me would be too great. For tonight at least I must believe her that we will make each other happy again, that she will save me. As I undress her and draw her down to the bed with me I realise that I do not care whether tomorrow even comes, that all I need is now and her.


	2. Fight

**Just a few little housekeeping details:**

**As far as I know I haven't really changed anything from the show except that I'm going to keep Henry Fitzroy alive for now, unsure whether I will have him die when he actually did (just after Anne Boleyn's execution) or keep him in the mix for longer yet…**

**I'm assuming Katherine to be in her early forties, I'm aware that at the time of the trial she was a tad older than that in real life but in the show I think she doesn't look more than late thirties/early forties so that suits me! I have silenced my outraged history student conscience by telling myself it's fanfiction for a show rather than historical fiction. Feel free to imagine Henry a bit older though, as in season 3 Henry, as he was actually only six years younger than her (in the show I think he looks 10+ years younger than Katherine which is a bit silly). Or just accept beautiful young JRM as he was in season one and screw the inaccuracies! I know it was one of the things I was willing to overlook hehe…Tbh I don't think they look ridiculously mismatched or anything.**

**I have no idea whether Maud Parr (Catherine Parr's mother) was lady-in-waiting to KoA at this time but I know she definitely was at some point so why not now?**

**I have never studied Latin in my life and so have just written it as best as I can phonetically. I am more than happy to be corrected.**

**Finally, a massive thankyou to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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_Katherine_

When I wake the next morning I discover Henry trying to slip away from me unnoticed. He is dressing hurriedly in the pale dawn light, obviously desperate to leave, I only see his face in profile but he is anguished and confused, that much I can tell. I do not give any indication that I am awake and when he turns to face in my direction I quickly close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, if he does not wish to accept what happened last night then I will also participate in the charade for a while. After all his behaviour now is hardly shocking to me, I have ever had to be careful of his changing moods, his temper rises and ebbs like a tide and his wants and desires are liable to turn in moments. If I confront him now he will likely accuse me of entrapping him or taking advantage of his low mood or some such nonsense. No, I will choose the appropriate moment to build on the tentative bridge that we have built last night. I have succeeded in planting seeds of doubt in his mind about that Boleyn girl, about the ridiculous notion of having our marriage annulled and all that remains is for me to be patient and allow them to blossom until he cannot ignore them anymore. Besides, I do not have the stomach for a fight now, not when I am relishing the feeling of being a woman finally loved again by her husband, I have no desire to shatter my happiness in any way. Truthfully, it is no great task to look serene and untroubled when I feel his eyes on me for that is exactly how I feel.

I hear the door bang and he is gone. It could almost be a dream save for the warm place next to me in the bed where he lay and it is in that place that I doze contentedly until my ladies come in to wake me. They say nothing to me to indicate that they are aware of what has happened last night but of course they know, I am incapable of hiding my cheerfulness and I catch some of them subtly inspecting the sheets and exchanging complicit looks with one another. Girls are prone to gossip of course and whilst I would like nothing more than the Boleyns and their allies to find out that the King has lain with me any displeasure that the harlot showed to Henry would likely find its way back to me in one way or another so I will have to keep them quiet somehow.

'Lady Parr,' I summon one of the more trustworthy and mature of my ladies to me just as we are about to leave for Mass and indicate that the others should go on ahead of me. She comes bearing my rosary and prayer book.

'Yes, Madam?'

'It is my pleasure, and His Majesty's, that his visits here remain private and do not become public knowledge. I trust that you will keep my confidence and also that you will impress on my other ladies the importance of keeping mine and the King's meetings in here secret, I know that they look up to you.'

She nods respectfully and smiles at me.

'Of course, Madam. I am sure that the majority will need little persuasion to remain quiet. However, if it is necessary to _impress_ upon them further, may I-΄

'Yes, Lady Parr, bribe them if you must. They will not need to keep quiet for long, God willing, so hopefully we will not wrack up a large bill!'

As she hands me my rosary and prayer book she says very quietly, 'I am happy for you, Madam.' Then I follow her to the chapel and although I am nearly bursting with joy I concentrate all my energies into looking sober and serious, the time will come when everyone will know my happiness, but not yet. Not yet.

* * *

Later in the day Thomas More brings Bishop Fisher to see me. I can only hope that his counsel will be more useful than that of the faithless bishops who were sent to speak to me yesterday. It sickens me that they are entrusted to spread the word of God. Still, I have heard favourable reports of Fisher's conduct and surely Thomas, who is one of my only friends and supporters at court, would only deliver me an ally.

'Majesty,' the warm and respectful manner in which he addresses me confirms my hopes that he is here to help me.

'Please,' I gesture that he should take a seat near the fire and seat myself opposite him. It is such a relief to be entering into a conversation with a friend rather than readying myself for another attack of spite and accusations from an enemy.

'Lord Bishop, are you certain that you wish to act for me?' He looks at me as if he has not even considered doing anything else but I continue regardless, he must be aware of the risks that will accompany supporting me. My situation has changed of course, since last night, but I still anticipate resistance to my cause and unfortunately I have no doubt that my enemies are capable of inflicting hurt on those who are close to me.

'You must be aware of the dangers and difficulties that you will face. I would understand if you would prefer peace and tranquillity.'

'Gentle Madam, what peace or tranquillity can there be without justice? Or the love of God?' His response delights me, this is exactly who I need to support me. I thank God for sending him to me.

'I have studied the case against you carefully. They will no doubt press the fact that the Pope's dispensation to allow you to marry the King was…technically faulty and therefore invalid.'

That is worrying, it is exactly the sort of 'evidence' that Henry will seize upon in order to force through a divorce. In my heart I know that he struggles with the idea of simply casting me aside to indulge his lust for another, he still cares for me despite his attempts to persuade me of the contrary. My poor husband, he is trying to persuade himself as much as he is me. And yet if his advisors, who would tell him anything that he wished to hear anyway, convinced him there was a problem with our dispensation then he would be absolved of any responsibility in the matter, at least in his mind. Of course it is common knowledge that there is no real problem with the dispensation but no doubt those cursed Boleyns or Wolsey will manage to find something within it that they can exploit. Anything can be 'proven' now apparently if it is the King's pleasure for it to be so.

'But, the obvious way of solving any such technical…deficiency,' his tone makes it perfectly clear that he invests as much importance in 'technicalities' as I do, 'is not to declare the marriage null and void but to issue more fresh and perfect dispensation.'

That is indeed a perfect idea, positive and unmistakeable evidence that our marriage is valid. I fail to see how anyone, however ingenious, could explain away a second dispensation. I cannot stop a small smile from lighting up my face.

'In any case, the continuance of so long a space has rendered the marriage honest and the principle of _supplet ecclesia _– let the church provide- has itself made good any defects in the Pope's dispensation.'

'Then you suppose we may win?' Recently it has been a challenge not to descend into misery at my situation, of course I have never once considered yielding, but I have constantly been in fear of what will happen to my daughter and myself. After what happened last night and Bishop Fisher's assurances however, it is impossible not to feel some hope.

'We may win the argument yes, but I-I cannot pretend that it will avail us much.'

I nod in understanding. It is good that he is aware of the difficulties that we face, better that than to be blinded with false optimism. He does not know the extent of the King's misgivings and turmoil about the procedure that he has started so naturally he believes the outlook to be bleak.

'We shall still try.' When he sees that I am still deep in thought he mistakes it for melancholy and attempts to revive my hope.

'Be of good cheer, Madam, for we are on the side of the angels!'

Yes, I think, that is certainly true. More so now than ever.

* * *

Days pass before he comes to my rooms again. It is not quite time to sleep, my ladies and I are sewing quietly, a few are playing cards or reading when suddenly the door is flung open and he is there in the doorway, breathing heavily, clearly angry about something or another. We all rise and curtsey, my ladies hastily and clumsily out of surprise but I make sure that I am unrushed and graceful. I always knew he would return here, he cannot help himself.

'Good evening, Sire,' I say and smile sweetly. 'This is a most pleasant surprise.' Then I calmly go back to my sewing, I will not give him any cause to unleash his anger on me.

'Wine,' he barks at one of the girls and fairly snatches the goblet out of her hands when she returns with it.

'Now leave,' he says tersely, gesturing expansively to make it clear that he means all of them. They fairly run out of the room, obviously anxious not to be present when the reason for the fearsome temper he is in becomes apparent. Doubtless it will be my fault but I am not afraid of him, I have borne the brunt of his mood swings before.

'Would you like to know where I've been, Katherine?' He is sitting at the table where the card game had been going on before he interrupted it. His face is cold and there is a cruel glint in his eye, he means to goad me, to hurt me. Well, let him try, I am fairly immune to his callousness after all this time.

'If your Majesty would like to tell me. I do not pretend that it is my right to know.' I keep my tone deliberately light.

'I was playing cards as it happens. With the Lady Anne.'

I smile wryly.

'Oh yes? I seem to remember that the Lady Anne had quite an affinity for cards. She is a competent dancer too. I'm sure that she is a very pleasant…companion for you.'

He sighs, frustrated.

'Is it impossible to make you angry, Katherine? For years I have flaunted my women in front of you and yet you seem to bear me no ill feeling. It is unnatural.'

I shrug and continue with my sewing, nonchalant.

'I love you, as I have told you many times; I forgive you your wrongdoings as does God.'

He smiles despite himself.

'I have heard some people call you 'saint', Katherine. What do you think to that title?'

'I am touched that anyone should think of me in such high esteem. Naturally I do not deserve that name though. I am but a woman, a wife, a mother and a Queen and I try my best to fulfil all those roles as God would want me to. That is all I can do.'

'Spoken like a true martyr,' he mutters. I pretend not to hear.

'Forgive me your Majesty, but I am confused. Despite spending the evening in the company of the evidently _enchanting_ Lady Anne, you seem displeased. Did she perhaps beat you at cards?'

He scowls.

'Yes she did. She is a far better player than you ever were, Katherine.' _I let you win_, I think, amused, _and you truly think you outplayed me every single time_. But no matter, he is coming to his point at last.

'But that is not why I am displeased. We had a discussion which has upset me greatly.'

'Oh? I am sorry that you are upset.'

'I am upset because of _your_ nephew's actions! Whilst he is the Emperor's prisoner all the Pope will do to solve my problem is _pray_!'

From his accusatory stare it might as well be me that is holding the Pope prisoner.

'Henry,' I say softly, trying to placate him, 'you know very well that I have no influence over my nephew's doings, even if I wanted to encourage him against you, which you _know_ that I do not, I could not. All my correspondence is opened and checked,' _despite you telling me that you would put a stop to it, '_and besides…'

'Besides what? Well come on then, speak up!'

'Has it ever occurred to you that the Pope has not yet found in your favour because our marriage is valid? Perhaps it is nothing to do with my nephew. Perhaps it is to do with the truth.'

His handsome features contort into an ugly sneer.

'The _truth_, Katherine? The _truth_ is that the only son I have is a bastard! And that is your fault!'

Those words finally succeed in riling me, I _hate_ any mention of that boy, every time I hear his name I cannot help but burn with the injustice that our poor little sons are dead whilst that Fitzroy bastard is healthy and thriving.

'Well, if you insist on continuing on this path soon you will have nothing but bastards to your name!'

'What?'

'Mary. If you care nothing for my feelings can you not at least think of her? You would have her declared a bastard, the product of…incest.' I have to force the words from my mouth; it makes me feel sick to voice my darkest fears aloud. 'She will never make a good marriage, any prospects she has now would disappear. You would ruin her.'

I take heart from the fact that my words seem to have truly horrified him; no-one has succeeded in turning him against our precious daughter as he has been turned away from me. When he finally succeeds in speaking his voice sounds tortured.

'Katherine, I would never seek to hurt Mary. I care for you _both_.'

I smile wanly.

'I am sure that is true.'

'It is.'

I have no choice but to believe him, the alternative is too terrible to even consider.

'Katherine,' he stares at the table as if he is too ashamed to look at me. 'I am sorry if my determination that this trial takes place has hurt you. It was not my intention. But surely you understand that I cannot ignore my conscience, I must have an answer Katherine, or I will have no peace. This issue must be resolved, one way or the other.'

_One way or the other. _At least he has acknowledged that the verdict is uncertain. It is a small triumph to be sure but it is enough for now.

'It is late, I must go.' He is looking around uncertainly as if only just becoming aware of his surroundings again. When he stands to leave however, I stand too, it is clear to me that I must be bold and take advantage of the tender words that he has just spoken to me.

'Henry, will you not stay with me as you did before?'

He is silent for so long after I ask the question that I am sure that he is going to refuse and the renewed disappointment is almost too much to bear. It is only when he lifts his head and meets my gaze that I realise that he will surrender to me again.

'No-one must know. And do not take it as any kind of…promise. Come morning nothing will have changed.'

I nod in understanding, in assent, I will agree to any conditions, and then he comes to me again. He comes back to me.


	3. Trial

**I have no excuse for how long it's taken me to update this, I can only apologise. I very much hope that it is worth the wait!**

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_Henry_

My son has his first sword. I spared no expense on it's crafting of course, in truth the finished product is ridiculously extravagant for an eight year old boy, most likely he will hardly be able to lift it, let alone wield it with any sort of skill. But no matter, I want my son to have the best of everything, to know that his father loves him and that he is hopeful of a great future for him. When I saw the finished sword I was satisfied because it was fit for the heir to the throne. Except that I had to be content with dispatching the sword to Sheriff Hutton and imagining the joy on his face when he received it because I could not deliver it myself. I had to accept that his stepfather, Baron Talboys would be the one to teach him how to use it and that in all honesty he is probably far more of a father to the boy than I ever will be. I have had to accept that my only son will never be king and it is a bitter burden for me to carry.

I have resigned myself to it though. Richmond can never be king, no matter how healthy and vital he is and in spite of, if the reports I have been receiving are true, the potential he shows. Investing the succession in my bastard son would almost certainly throw the country into civil war, my father's worst nightmare and mine as well, if I am honest. I cannot condemn the English people to that fate upon my death. What I cannot accept however is the terrible possibility that I will never have a son who will inherit the throne. It is why I have refused Katherine's and some of my braver advisors' pleas to formally invest my daughter as Princess of Wales and name her as my successor. No argument that they formulate will convince me that Mary is a suitable heir for this country. She is fiercely intelligent, they tell me, waving her tutors' glowing praises under my nose, as intelligent as any prince could be. I will make her a brilliant marriage so she will have a strong king to rule by her side and with the marriage will inevitably come a score of healthy Tudor boys to inherit after her. All is not lost just because the Queen and I do not have a son, they claim.

They present all these far fetched possibilities as if they are certainties but they are not- far from it in fact. I have no doubt that Mary is highly intelligent, God knows that I have put enough effort into finding only the best tutors for her education. She is educated to a far higher standard than any female in Christendom, even taking into account that she is royalty. But what of it? Knowledge of languages, religion, riding and hunting is useless without politics, diplomacy and war- the intricacies of kingship- of which she knows nothing. Yes, she is devout, yes she is charming but Wolsey's spies in her household also report her bouts of high emotion, her tendency to become upset easily, both unavoidable consequences of her sex but hardly desirable qualities of a king. Moreover, she seems to be _physically_ weak, hardly a month goes by without her physician reporting some new ailment. The Princess suffers from migraines, the Princess has little appetite and has lost weight, the Princess has a weakness in her chest and has been in bed for several days, too weak to rise. She is hardly ever healthy. What if, God forbid, she was to die before she is able to produce a male heir?

Then there is the question of her husband. There is no-one in England worthy enough to marry her, a foreign prince will have to be found. But whom? Two of her betrothals have already failed, the Emperor was not willing to wait for her to be of age and the King of France evidently thinks there are better matches for the Dauphin. Of course there will always be suitors for the hand of a princess of England but which of them can I trust to rule this country alongside Mary? The people will not like a foreign ruler either, it will cause disquiet, disquiet which unscrupulous power-hungry barons will be only too happy to seize upon. Finally, I am thoroughly skeptical that Mary will have copious amounts of sons considering Katherine's failure to produce even one. Mary may well be as barren as her mother and then what will England be left with? A barren queen, a foreign king and the problem of the succession still unsolved.

Placing Mary on the throne will be equally as disastrous as naming Richmond as my heir. I must have a legitimate son and I will not get one from Katherine. God must see this and He will ensure that this trial comes to its rightful conclusion. It pains me to cause anguish to Katherine but personal feelings will have to be put aside for a matter as important as this. The security of a kingdom is at stake. I will not abandon my daughter as Katherine seems to think I will, I see no reason why she cannot retain her title as princess- she was conceived in good faith and it is not her fault that her mother and I have been living in sin. No, she will remain legitimate and I will find her a suitable husband worthy of a princess of England. Then, once she is married she will go abroad as my own sisters did and live in the kingdom of her husband. Mary will make a good wife and, God willing, mother but it is simply not her destiny to be queen of England. I will put this to Katherine and make her see that I mean to be fair. I will make her see reason. I must.

These late night meetings with Katherine must stop, for what good will they achieve in the end? I am merely giving her false hope of reconciliation which is cruel and I have no desire to be cruel towards her. She is my late brother's wife after all, and therefore I will extend to her all the favours and courtesies she deserves as the Dowager Princess of Wales. She will not live in poverty as my father forced her to, I am no skinflint miser who would make her wear torn dresses or eat cheap food. She will be comfortably accommodated with a generous allowance and a reasonable staff. She will be welcome at court whenever she wishes to attend, she may see Mary as often as she wishes. For God's sake, they can even reside together if that would make her happy. I will find her a worthy husband if she wishes to remarry. There is nothing I would not do to please her if she would only indulge me in the matter of our sinful union and its consequences.

Today is the first day of the trial which she has forced me to have. Hopefully she will behave with dignity and accept the inevitable conclusion with grace when it comes. I tread the right path, though it is not an easy one by any means, of that I have no doubt. But why is it then that I feel so nervous, so uncomfortable about the events of the coming days?

A remark I made to Wolsey suddenly reappears in my mind. He had asked me what I would do if the jury found mine and Katherine's marriage to be valid.

'_Then I will live happily with Katherine for the rest of my days.'_

At the time a happy future with Katherine had seemed unthinkable, now evil whispers in my head constantly tell me it is possible. I have let Satan in by laying with my brother's wife and he tries to make me stray from righteousness. I must proceed.

* * *

They cheer for her. The deafening sound rings in my ears as I wait for her in the courtroom. It is my imagination I know but as I sit alone with the eyes of the most important men in England upon me I fancy that they cheer with more fervor for her than for me. A seemingly endless amount of time passes before she appears in the doorway and all that can be heard for miles is 'God save the Queen!' and 'Long live Queen Katherine!'. Hordes of people line the streets to see their Queen of Hearts, they kneel in the dust and dirt when she is near them and what am I to them but her heartless husband who would cast her off so he could indulge his lust. They serve me because they have to but they love her, as they love their family- willingly and fiercely. These are the thoughts that invade me when I am alone, without the protection of my supporters to keep them away. This is the poison that flows through my veins and weakens me more and more each day.

The acclaim is louder still when she deserts the courtroom and I am alone again, staring at her empty seat and surrounded by admiration for her. It is in the very air or so it seems. Across the court men are gaping and whispering and I am powerless to make them stop, her words- elegant and heartfelt, compared to my clumsy, cold offerings- are as deadly as arrowfire.

'_I beseech you, for all the love that has been between us...'_

_'Give me some pity and compassion...'_

_'I call God and all the world to witness that I have been to you a true, humble and obedient wife...'_

Slowly, deliberately I survey the room. Boleyn with a look of pure fury. Brandon uncomfortable and embarrassed. Wolsey despairing with his head in his hands and abject fear in his eyes. Fisher, alone like me, and yet seemingly possessing none of the insecurities that plague me. None can help me,at this, my lowest moment.

Eventually I can tolerate the humiliation no longer and manage to stand. I slink away via a side entrance, with shame following me like a shadow. When I am able to speak I issue a taut command to my steward:

'Bring Fisher to me. I would speak with him.'

His face as he bows to me seems to reflect my thoughts at that moment. _What have you done?_, it says.

* * *

Fisher does not appear until several hours later. He seems to have no fear of me whatsoever which is novel, I mean to see just how plainspeaking he will dare to be in front of me. Something tells me that I have pit myself against a very dangerous foe.

'Bishop Fisher, Your Majesty,' the steward announces and then exits, leaving us alone.

'Your Majesty,' he says calmly and bows. 'I was informed that you wish to speak with me.'

Damn him, he looks completely at ease and displays none of the signs of being overawed in my presence. Any fleeting notion I had of bribery or intimidation quickly leaves my head, he will not be bought or threatened.

'Indeed. I was intrigued by your performance in court this morning.'

' "Performance", Your Majesty?'

He has the audacity to look offended which irks me even more.

'You made some quite serious accusations of Bishop Tunstall. Forgery, if I recall correctly. I found your manner to be unnecessarily theatrical and offensive.'

'I apologise if I conducted myself incorrectly. If I did it was because of the shock and outrage that I felt. As for what I said in regards to Bishop Tunstall, I am afraid I must stand by my accusation, grave though I acknowledge it is.'

'Not many people would think to interrupt their King when they are speaking!'

I am shouting now through sheer irritation and frustration, why must he continue to thwart me and aid Katherine?

'I thought your Majesty would like to know the truth.'

'Do not presume what I would like to know! I did not appreciate your interruption!'

He does not apologise which makes me almost explode with fury but instead I force myself to present a calm exterior. Anger is not the path to Fisher's support. I will have to reason with him, damn his intelligence.

'You may sit, Your Grace. I would ask your opinion.'

Once we are seated I fix him with a piercing stare. I will make him blatantly declare his allegiance and test his bravery fully.

'You are on the side of the Queen in this matter, are you not?'

'I am on the side of right, and of God.'

How convenient it would be if Fisher would just succumb to old age and die. I would fantasise about it if I would not be faced with the shame of confessing it.

'Of course. But you think it wrong for me to try and dissolve my marriage.'

'I believe you are woefully ill advised Your Majesty. After being appointed as counsel for the Queen I took it upon myself to do extensive research into this matter and I cannot deny that I believe that yours and the Queen's marriage is fully valid and legal.'

'Ill advised?' Obviously he is not afraid of making enemies. 'By whom?'

'The Boleyns and their allies, principally. Also, regrettably, Cardinal Wolsey. Sadly his greed and thirst for power appear to have overpowered him.'

His candor is astonishing, refreshing almost. After the disaster of this morning I cannot bring myself to defend Wolsey and I let Fisher's comment pass without reprimand.

'You are familiar with Leviticus I take it, Your Grace.'

'Naturally. However, as the Queen's marriage to Prince Arthur was not consummated I cannot see that it applies to your case. There is also the dispensation from the Pope which allowed you to marry the Queen.'

I choose to ignore the last point.

'There are many who claim that the Queen's first marriage was in fact consummated.'

His face is skeptical and knowing.

'Then you think the Queen to be a liar?'

'I am simply saying that there is supposed proof of the marriage's consummation. I have no wish to dishonour or embarrass the Queen. I would gladly spare her this trial if she would only admit the truth.'

'Sire, forgive me, but I believe wholeheartedly that Her Majesty speaks the truth, including her speech in court this morning.'

'Fisher,' I say tersely, my voice rising again in spite of myself, 'if our marriage is completely valid then why do we have no heir? There is no more obvious proof that God is displeased by our union.'

'God has in fact blessed you with an heir, Your Majesty. The Princess Mary.'

'A girl! She cannot succeed!'

God forgive me but I have to restrain myself from striking his placid face when he speaks next.

'No? It appears that God wills it.'

'Are you mad, man? Do you know what happened the last time a King tried to name his daughter as heir?'

'I assume you are referring to the Empress Matilda? I do not disagree that period was a dark time indeed for our country. However, I think we must also entertain the possibility that had her crown not been fairly stolen from her head that she had the potential to be a competent ruler. And, Your Majesty, I believe that your daughter could be far greater than merely 'competent'.

I am speechless. I have been soundly defeated twice in the space of a day.

'You may go, Your Grace.'

* * *

'Last night I was in the midst of Spain!'

'Henry?'

Katherine looks shocked, as well she might, seeing as I have stormed into her apartments unannounced. She is still refusing to attend court, but I will make her hear what is being said about her, I swear it, so she can bear some of the crushing humiliation that I am forced to suffer.

'Your _husband's_ words after he had spent a night in the marital bed!'

She blushes and looks away.

'What explanation have you for that?'

Her eyes are pleading with me to stop but I will not.

'Apparently you were also a pleasant _pastime_ for him. I wonder what he could have been referring to? Conversation, no doubt.'

Despite the slight on her dignity she eventually manages to look at me with defiance.

'I do not know why he said such things. Bravado, perhaps. May God forgive him.'

'Katherine, they have the stained bedsheets from the night of your wedding. Stop this now before you are embarrassed further, for God's sake.'

Instead of breaking down in submission her eyes blaze with injustice.

'Any evidence they present is false. I beg you to remember that. I have never lied to you.'

'I hope not, Madam. For your sake and our daughter's.'

With that I leave, I cannot be in her presence another second, else I will start to believe her.

* * *

October 1st. More months of delaying, deliberating and torment. But I will wait, I will have my decision from Rome and no-one will say that I have acted on selfish desires or insulted Katherine and Mary. No-one will accuse me. I will wait and I will have my right.


	4. Progress

_Katherine_

We are on progress.

Usually the court looks forward to the summer hiatus from Greenwich, to the endless masques, feasts, hunts and revelry that are provided as we leisurely travel between the King's luxurious properties. On any other year everyone would be reluctant to begin the trip back, would be cajoling my husband to stay one more day, visit one more place, delay until return was essential. This year, however, there is not one person in our retinue who is not anxious to bring this disastrous progress to a premature end. For once the beautiful summer days seem unbearable and endless, we must endure them instead of enjoy them. We, and indeed the whole country, are merely waiting for the autumn to finally arrive when the papal legate will reconvene and deliver their verdict on my marriage. If there had not been yet another outbreak of plague in the city I wonder whether we would have left there at at all.

Everywhere we go the atmosphere is fraught and tense. Henry himself is in the worst humour I have ever witnessed and strikes fear in the hearts of anyone who is unlucky enough to be summoned to his presence. Nothing will make him pleasant it seems, not hunting, not extravagant gifts, not eating, not entertainment. He will not be seen with me at all and it is some unfortunate lackey's job to ensure that our households do not encounter each other. If we happen to pass each other he stalks past me, refusing to even look at me, his face like thunder. Every day another one of his friends tries to excuse himself, fabricating some disaster that demands his immediate presence away from the royal court, but Henry will let no-one leave. If he is miserable then we must all suffer with him. Unsurprisingly it is me that he means to make most miserable of all.

In all the years that I have been married I have been angry with my husband many times. I have been disappointed, heart broken, humiliated. But I have never been afraid of him, until now.

He will not be seen in public with me but that does not stop him from storming into my chambers in a drunken rage when it is dark and I am alone and defenceless. His threats are chilling.

'You have humiliated me! I am the laughing stock of Europe because of you!' He shouted two nights ago. 'How dare you think to defy me! I should have you put in the Tower and flogged. I could have your death warrant drawn up in hours...'

It goes on and on, accusation after accusation, awful insults are thrown at me until he has made himself hoarse. Then, at the height of his childish tantrum, he demands that he has me. His treatment of me is more appropriate to that he would give a whore than his wife. He will not look at me, he grabs me so hard that bruises appear on my skin, the second he has taken his pleasure he pushes me away from him as if I am worthless. Thank God, he is yet to actually strike me. In the morning my ladies and I pretend nothing has happened although, sleeping only in the next room, they surely hear everything. What could they do anyway? He is the King and he will not be denied.

His ranting and rough treatment are not what makes me genuinely afraid though. He is no fool and to take any action against me publicly would be disastrous for him. My husband is not stupid enough to imprison me and risk an uprising. It is the soft words he speaks in his rare moments of calm rationality that genuinely terrify me.

'I will never call you my wife again.'

'You will never see Mary again.'

'You have numerous enemies in this court. I am no longer inclined to protect you.'

He has made me fear the agony of death by poison or an assassin creeping into my chambers at night. Even on the nights that he does not subject me to his wrath I lie awake for hours, unable to sleep for worry. When at last I do succumb to exhaustion I am plagued by a nightmare, always the same one, the death of my daughter at the hands of the Boleyns or their allies, every night I am made to suffer the horror of the funeral of my only child. It is no wonder then that I have been constantly ill this summer, that I am prone to fainting, vomiting, dizziness to name but a few symptoms I have suffered. The physicians try various methods of trying to make me well, none are successful and they grow increasingly confused about the cause of my maladies. Of course, I know very well what is wrong with me- fear. There is no cure.

My only hope comes from Henry's demeanour just before he skulks back to his own chambers in the early hours of the morning. Without fail he looks despondent about what he has done, about his behaviour towards me.

'This is your fault, Katherine,' he tells me every time. 'I tried to be reasonable, you force me to treat you this way. You are the cause of all this misery. Only you can end it.'

At least he feels guilty. At least he deems it necessary to pass responsibility for his actions. When he stops blaming me then I will be truly afraid, both for myself and my husband's soul. This is the devil's work that he is doing.

I say nothing to him. What is there to say?

Fortunately, I manage to gather from my gossiping ladies that he is treating the Boleyn girl none too well either. According to them he spends less and less time with her, often refusing her company. When he is with her she is as prone to his foul temper as everyone else. Supposedly her father and uncle are forcing her to seek his company which she would otherwise avoid. Undoubtedly it was a blow when the King declined to include Hever Castle on the progress and they are probably terrified that his ardour for the girl is fading, that he is debating whether this protracted ordeal is even _worth_ marrying her. Certainly he has not bestowed on Boleyn the earldom that he had hinted at a few months ago. It is all meaningless hearsay though, he is so cruel and unpredictable at the moment that he could shower titles on the Boleyns tomorrow, he could just be waiting until we return to London where he may well become just as infatuated with the girl as before. More, perhaps. I never thought that I would find anything in common with that family but it appears that we are all as desperate for this wretched summer to end.

Another auspicious absence from the summer progress is Hampton Court. Yet Wolsey may yet slither his way back into favour, it would not surprise me in the slightest. I know that he writes almost daily to Henry, most likely begging for forgiveness, he even had the audacity to write to me, offering some kind of alliance! Truly, that brought the only unforced smile to my face of this entire summer. I threw the letter into the fire, where it belongs. As if I could ever trust that man! I was tempted to bring it to the King's attention but I feared I would only bring suspicion upon myself. Pray God, Henry never finds out that I even received it. I expect Henry will relent and free him soon and he may yet be back at court before Christmas. Just as soon as he proves he can be useful again. There is nothing I can do but hope that his next transgression against the King is swift and public. His letters make me nervous, an idiot would realise that the way back into my husband's good graces is to attack me, and Wolsey is intelligent in his immoral, dishonest way. As well as this, Henry is spending more and more days cooped up with his advisers, none of whom are any friend of mine. He is planning something.

When I was young and naive, after Arthur died, when I was living in poverty and my future was uncertain I thought it would be impossible to be any more unhappy than I was then. I thought Henry was saving me, now he is close to destroying me.

After my latest visit from the physicians Henry makes his first public visit to me in months. I am surprised but not overly so. It is common knowledge that my health is poor and most likely Cromwell whispered in his ear that it would make him appear chivalrous and kind if he publicly enquired after my well-being. He will probably stay long enough to ascertain that I am not dying, which is, in all likelihood, his dearest wish and then be on his way.

'I came because I heard you were unwell, and it was necessary for the physicians to have bled you. How are you feeling now?'

'I am very well. Your Majesty is kind to show concern,' I answer tiredly. It is so cruel to see him expressing concern for me when I know all too well how much he despises me.

'How is our daughter?'

My heart lightens a little when he mentions her. He has not forgotten her, he still loves her. She is still his pearl.

'She writes to me in perfect Latin and tells me she dances the galliards every day, and can play the lute much to everyone's satisfaction and joy. You should be proud of her.' God knows, she is my only joy in the world now.

'I _am_ proud of her.' He appears genuine in that, at least.

'You ought to invite her to court. You could watch her dancing and playing. It might please you.'

Silence falls between us and a calculating look comes over his face, he seems to be debating something in his mind. Eventually he says:

'Very well.'

I am stunned.

'Your Majesty?'

'Mary may come to court when we return from progress. I will send messengers to Ludlow tomorrow morning to invite her.'

'Thankyou,' I manage to say. 'Thankyou, your Majesty. She will be so happy.' Somehow I manage to disguise my overwhelming _joy_ at this concession, lest this is all a malicious joke he is playing on me.

'Not as happy as I will be to see my beloved daughter again. Sit down please, it is Mary that I came to you to talk about anyway.'

He is actually smiling at me, I can hardly believe this is the same man that has been tormenting me for so many months. I do as he says, praying fervently that he remains cordial.

'I have decided to bestow a title upon Mary.'

Before I can stop myself I feel my hopes rising that he is going to finally invest her as Princess of Wales. Of course, I remind myself a second later, that is now nothing more than a fantasy of mine. Of course it isn't that.

'I mean to make her Princess Royal,' he says, and looks expectantly at me.

I have never heard of it.

'Princess Royal,' I repeat carefully, making myself speak with what is hopefully the correct amount of happiness and curiosity.

'It is a title of my own invention,' he explains, looking absurdly pleased with himself, 'from now on it will be given to the eldest daughter of the King, as his eldest son is Prince of Wales, his eldest daughter will be the Princess Royal. I wouldn't be surprised if Francis didn't steal it for his own daughter!,' he adds, chuckling.

'She will be delighted, I am sure,' I reassure him.

'There will be a magnificent ceremony of course,' he says earnestly, as if I need persauding. 'She will have new gowns, as many as she likes and in whatever fabric she pleases and I will have jewels commissioned for her. All of London will celebrate. She will have the best of everything. No-one will question how much I love my daughter. No-one will question her legitimacy,' he adds, his face darkening.

I don't know what to say, this is such a change in Mary's fortunes. Astronomical. _Why?_ I can't help thinking. _Why are you doing this?_

'And another thing,' he says abruptly. 'I have decided to change her residence. Sending her to Ludlow was a mistake. Her physician has written to me that he fears the dampness of the castle and the climate is derogatory to her health. I wish to have her household here, at Eltham. It will be more pleasant for her, don't you think?'

'Yes,' I agree automatically. This is far better than I could have hoped for, Eltham is an easy journey from Greenwich, I could see her frequently if I am given permission. I realise what he is telling me of course, by removing her from Ludlow he sends the clear message that she will never be heir apparent, will never be prepared to be Queen. Moreover, he is letting me know that he means for her to remain a legitimate princess in the event of our marriage being annulled. Is he so confident then, of his success? It is impossible to tell what he is thinking. Even so, I cannot help but be cautiously pleased if somewhat confused as to his change of heart.

'It is settled then. We can explain it all to her when she comes to court next month.'

'Yes.' I feel that an extra declaration of gratitude is needed. 'I thank you again, Your Majesty.'

He inclines his head towards me. 'Goodnight, Katherine.'

'Goodnight, Your Majesty.'

* * *

Over the next few days the news of Mary's new title spreads and soon it appears to be the sole topic of conversation. Everyone, it seems, has a different theory about the King's intentions. I know nothing of his ultimate plan and I am driven half mad wondering what it is he means to do. Once again, another move has been made in this complicated game we are playing and I have no idea what is the best way to respond.

When Chapuys arrives early one morning the gossips are stirred into a near frenzy of excitement. Nearly a whole agonising day passes before he is free to visit me, my husband demands his prescence first and it is late afternoon before he is released. His arrival could not have been more timely, I am desperate for friendly advice which is becoming more and more impossible to find.

'Madam,' he says when we are both seated in my chambers. 'The Emperor asks Your Majesties to consider a candidate for the hand of your daughter, the Princess Mary.'

'Oh?'

'The Emperor proposes your nephew, Infante Luís, the Duke of Beja.'

The son of my sister Maria. Her second son. Truthfully I had once hoped for a better match for Mary. As if Chapuys has access to my thoughts he says gently:

'He is presently heir to the throne of Portugal.'

'Yes. Although I hear the Queen is once again with child.'

'That is true. As you know, there have been...difficulties in the past, however,' he says carefully.

I know only too well, her situation is a parallel of my own miserable position.

'The Emperor is of the opinion that the Infante is the most suitable Imperial match for the Princess. A dispensation would be needed, of course, but the Emperor is confident that the Pope would grant one.'

'What does the King say to my nephew's proposal?'

Chapuys looks uncertain.

'He said he would consider it. He did not seem opposed to the idea. If I may be frank, Your Majesty?'

I nod, impatiently.

'He appears to want to settle the issue of the Princess's marriage with all haste. Now that he has settled the issue of her legitimacy there will be numerous offers of marriage. Thankfully, the King of France is in no position to offer the Dauphin, or indeed even the Duke of Orléans.'

That is fortunate indeed, I would rather my daughter marry a peasant than anyone of the Valois line.

'The Princess is eleven years of age, yes?' He continues. 'That means that once a betrothal is confirmed it would not be unreasonable to expect her to travel to the country of her new husband. Your daughter could be sent away within the year.'

It is true what he says, Mary might well have to leave this country sooner than I would have hoped. It will cause me great suffering for her to be so far away from me of course but I will bear it, it is the fate of all royal daughters to live far away from their family.

'At the moment,' Chapuys muses, 'the King fears an invasion by the Emperor on your behalf.'

'Is he right to do so?'

'Yes,' Chapuys says bluntly. 'However, I will be honest, Madam, if the King accepts Infante Luís for the Princess Mary then the Emperor would be far more reluctant to break such an alliance. It is almost certain that he would not. And in any case, even if the King decides on a different husband for the Princess she will still be living abroad. Once she is gone...' He trails off, clearly uncomfortable.

'Sympathy for my cause will wane,' I finish for him, matter of factly.

'Yes, I am afraid so,' he says apologetically. 'I would counsel that you make your approval known for the Emperor's choice, it would encourage the King to be generous to you in the event of...the worst.'

'He would not want to provoke the Emperor by ill-treating me,' I say, softly.

'No,' he agrees. 'He would not. Marriage of the Princess to Infante Luís will also ensure your own protection in the event that the annulment is granted.'

'Do you know of the King's plans for me, if...' I cannot bear to speak of defeat, even now when it is looming larger than ever.

'It is likely you will be given properties and land, unless you decide to take Holy Orders. I believe you would live comfortably. He will marry the Lady Anne, although he seems less enraptured with her than before. It is too late to retreat from that promise.'

'And if our marriage is declared valid?'

Worryingly, he looks more disturbed by that possibility than the other.

'Madam, I do not know,' he says, after a short silence. 'Truthfully, I am concerned that he will banish you from court, regardless. There is disturbing evidence that he has been consulting with Reformists and means to break with Rome if he is not granted the annulment.'

I am horrified. In my worst moments of doubt I have never feared something so grave.

'He would go so far?' I gasp.

'We all pray that he will not,' he says, attempting to sound reassuring but failing, 'I do not believe that he wants to. If Wolsey is reinstated then certainly, the likelihood of that happening will lessen. No-one can be sure what the King truly intends, he is too changeable to predict his actions. We must wait. Wait and pray.'

* * *

It is only the next day that the waiting finally ends. The next day when, ten minutes after a rider is spotted in the courtyard wearing my daughter's livery, Henry bursts into the chapel where I am hearing Mass and commands that I prepare myself to leave at once. Mary is gravely ill and we must go to her immediately.

* * *

**A/N Okay, so I've obviously taken a lot of historical liberties in this chapter. I've moved up the timeline of the Great Matter a bit so the year is 1527. With regards to Infante Luís, I think he is the 'Dom Luís' that Chapuys mentions in S3E04, I researched a bit about who would have been available for Mary to marry on the Emperor's side (on the internet, I'll admit) and he seems to be the only one in any way suitable. He was the second son of Manuel I of Portugal and Maria of Aragon so he and Mary would have been first cousins. At the time John III was King of Portugal and was childless as his first child, Infante Afonso, had died as an infant in 1526. His brother, Infante Luís, would therefore have been heir presumptive. However, his wife, Catherine of Austria, did eventually give birth to two children who survived to adulthood- (after a string of stillbirths and children who died young-sound familiar?) Maria Manuela in 1527 and John Manuel in 1537 so, as far as I can gather, Infante Luís would no longer have been heir to the throne after Maria Manuela's birth. So, when Chapuys tells Henry VIII and Jane Seymour 'Dom Luís' is heir to the throne of Portugal in the show, that is incorrect. Unless 'Don Luís' is just a completely fictional character which is entirely possible. **


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